


Intrinsicism

by LadyLilac



Series: The Cracks in Her Armour [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Breathplay, Named WoL, Non-binary character, Other, Spoilers for DRK Questline 30-50, female WoL, kinda bloodplay?, spoilers for Heavenward up to completion of The Vault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilac/pseuds/LadyLilac
Summary: Fray’s always known what she needed. It’s no surprise why, of course – L'liien has long since come to terms with the clandestine nature of Fray’s existence.





	Intrinsicism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/gifts).



> I love the DRK questline and I love Fray. The fandom needs more of them. Gifting this to Demios because it was their work that inspired me to try my hand at this in the first place. Strongly recommend reading their stuff.
> 
> Context for the fic: L’liien is a warrior of light – perhaps the only one, perhaps one of some few or some many depending on how you want to think about it. She’s mute, though she wasn’t always that way. My headcanon revises the garlean attack on the waking sands so that they don’t actually strike until their main target arrives. She’s taken, though the others manage to get away for the time she buys, and in her time receiving Garlean hospitality, her throat is surgically stripped and altered to annihilate her voice entirely. She uses sign language to communicate (my headcanon is that this particular variation is essentially imported from Doma) and Tataru being a savant at anything not related to combat picks it up as well to be her stalwart interpreter. Annnnd that’s basically the gist of it. I wrote a bunch of fics that have all that context in them, but they’re all either not finished or not edited enough for me to to want to share them.

Fray’s always known what she needed. It’s no surprise why, of course – L’liien’s long since come to terms with the clandestine nature of Fray’s existence – but it’s an understanding L’liien has nevertheless come to greatly appreciate. Because it’s not so simple as knowing what she needed. No, Fray’s always known what L’liien needed, and the warrior of light’s needs have never been more than even a passing concern. Fray knows how L’liien needs to hate, to feel, to kill, to taste, to love, to end, and while the warrior of light is above all of them L’liien is desperate for them and Fray knows this and Fray gives this. L’liien loves her for it. She loves Fray with her heart, her eyes, her hands, her tongue, and if there’s something wrong with loving a dark aether manifestation of all her hurts and hatreds then she’s lost beyond the point of caring. She moans as Fray’s hands roam beneath the thin fabric of her undershirt, gloved hands caressing her bare skin with tender affection, and Fray silences her by sealing their mouths together in a deep kiss. Fray’s tongue begs for entry and L’liien is more than compliant and it’s passing strange kissing her own face like this but it’s also Fray’s face and she knows she could become more than used to it. She grinds against Fray’s thigh as the dark knight hums their satisfaction and she’s desperate and needy but that’s fine; Fray’s always known how to give her what she needed.

* * *

She loves hearing how tales of the incident in Whitebrim evolve with time. L’liien knows she beat those knights half to death – then she beat herself half to death too, just for good measure. Today’s tale teller is singing the praises of the warrior who beat their voidsent doppelganger back into the abyss, saving the whole damn settlement in the process. Drillemont’s held his promise well; she tips the teller gratuitously. Fray chortles in the back of her mind, and L’liien has half a mind to laugh with her. The warrior of light infects all tales eventually. In the true tale of Whitebrim, she wasn’t even there. Still, Fray is her and she is Fray and they both know that the world needs their Warrior to be infallible. No minstrel will ever sing L’liien’s praises, and that’s fine. She has precious few to sing of, and Fray is forever happy to highlight them.

Fray – selfish, selfish Fray – saved her that day, though if the world knew of it L’liien doubts they would ever forgive them. The world needs a warrior, not a L’liien, and L’liien knows that were it not for Fray’s intervention, she would have been annihilated by the Warrior’s blistering light. Fray is her shade and her shelter from her own blessing, clutching L’liien tight to their breast and shielding her from her own brilliance in those times when the Warrior must shine her brightest. Fray shields her within the darkness of her shadows while the Warrior flares to illuminate all the world around her. Then, when the warrior’s work is finished and she recedes away to be the dim light in L’liien’s heart, they move from the shadows of her mind to the shadows of the realm and the innkeep jumps to furnish the warrior of light with the finest room they have on offer and Fray snickers when they see just how well L’liien can impersonate the world’s saviour. Always they keep off the lights, because the darkness is their realm together, and they hide from the light enough in L’liien’s mind to want to keep doing it in the precious time they share together within the realm. There, in the shadows of the warrior’s triumph, L’liien loves Fray the way only she knows how. It’s no longer passing strange, kissing her own lips and seeing her own eyes sparkle with unrestrained passion. There’s no room for judgement in the shadows – only love and hate and love and lust.

* * *

When Estinien jumps forward to yank her back and keep her from leaping after the Archbishop’s airship, L’liien tries to kill him. It takes three to restrain her, and for all their strength L’liien doubts Lucia and Aymeric could have held her back if it wasn’t for Fray carefully reassembling the shattered fragments of her mind. They whisper to her soothingly, reassuringly: “We’ll kill him,” they say. “But first, we’ll hurt him. We’ll draw it out and he’ll suffer.” It’s not enough to lull her from her rage but it is enough to lull her from her fury. Her weapon clatters against the stone as it falls from trembling fingers, and when Lucia tries to shake her to her senses L’liien is so spent she’s empty; from the way Lucia’s eyes widen, she wonders if the knight has seen L’liien for the first time. The warrior’s gone to hiding in the wake of her blatant failure and left L’liien in charge to pick up the pieces; L’liien’s been a passenger to the warrior’s crusade for so long that she doesn’t even know where to start. Haurchefant could have helped her. The wonderful idiot fool always had a knack for seeing L’liien behind the warrior’s eyes, but…

“He’ll suffer our pain one thousandfold,” Fray promises. “And then he’ll die screaming.” L’liien smiles softly. Fray always knows the perfect things to say.

* * *

She doesn’t remember traveling to the Forgotten Knight, but then she supposes she doesn’t remember much of anything after letting Fray soothe her from her fury. Her friends – the few that aren’t dead or missing anyway – have filed into the room and surrounded her. Alphinaud is whispering something to Aymeric who’s looking on with sincere-seeming concern, and Tataru’s squeezing one of L’liien’s hands between both of her own, so tightly that it’s almost uncomfortable. Lucia’s looking at her like she’s seeing something familiar, and it occurs to L’liien just how far the two of them have come since she first saw her wearing Livia’s face and tried to impale her. She can’t remember if she ever properly apologized for that.

“You didn’t,” Fray tells her. “But I’m sure she knows.”

L’liien feels like she’s overdue for an apology anyway. “I’m sorry for trying to kill you,” she signs, her hands steady enough to weave her strings of signs and symbols. “Twice,” she adds, because she’d tried to kill Lucia a second time when the knight pulled her off of Estinien, and she didn’t doubt that was fresh in everybody’s memories. Tataru interprets, and the room stills because that’s the first thing she’s said since Haurchefant died and L’liien desperately wishes the Warrior would stop hiding and take over because she doesn’t have a clue how to handle this.

“L’liien?” Tataru asks, hesitant.

L’liien nods, giving the lalafel’s small hands a tight squeeze of her own.

Lucia dismisses her apology with a wave of her hand. “We all have our demons,” the knight says. “Some are more active than others.”

“I like her,” Fray says. “I’m glad we didn’t kill her.”

L’liien supposes Fray would like being called a demon.

“I’m glad for your safety,” Ser Aymeric says, and he says it like he means it, and then he says: “After losing one friend today, I could not bear to lose another.” A part of her wants to tell him that she’s suffered the loss of an entire family in a day, and not just once, and that he should just grin and bear it like the good strong knight he is, but she feels the ghost of a hand on her shoulder and it’s Fray – Fray! – telling her that if she vents her hatred now she’ll have less to gift the Archbishop with when she finally has him at her mercy. She thinks it’s the first time Fray has ever told her to be nice. So she nods at Aymeric too and doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t trust her hands not to vent her hatred anyway.

“You need space, don’t you?” Alphinaud asks. “We can leave for now, but not for long. There’s simply not enough time.”

“Come back soon, but not too soon,” L’liien signs, and Alphinaud nods and escorts the others out of her room like she didn’t just tell him nothing in seven words. He’s the last one out the door and he nods knowingly then turns off all the lights.

“That one’s not as oblivious as I thought,” Fray says. L’liien just wonders how much and how long he’s known. She doesn’t wonder long though, because the door is shut and the lights are out and she can feel the bed dip as Fray settles into place beside her. L’liien shifts about until Fray’s not beside her but beneath her, leaning back into their chest as she unravels atop the dark knight’s lap. “Do you need to feel?” Fray asks, and L’liien nods and shifts and remembers that she’s still bound up in plate and as long as that’s the case she’ll be hard pressed to feel anything. Fray laughs, dark and breathy. “Then get off my lap so I can strip away that damnable armour.”

She isn’t standing steady, but she’s standing well enough to step out of her greaves as Fray tears away the scale plate guarding her chest. Her slacks follow her armour, and it’s not long before she’s standing in just an undershirt and her smallclothes. Fray tears the shirt away too. Fray never asks L’liien what she needs; they just know, as if knowing her needs is intrinsic to their very being. Knowing as she does, Fray discards any pretenses. She doesn’t caress, or stroke, or tease – she just pulls off a gauntlet before yanking down L’liien’s underwear and filling her with three fingers. Fray’s other hand grips at her breast, squeezing until it hurts, and they guide her back to their lap as Fray sinks back down to the bed, their fingers pumping deep inside her. It’s too much too fast and she aches for it and she treasures it; she cherishes the pain she can control, the pain that with a word, she can release herself from. She trusts Fray to fuck her so it hurts and grant her the sense of control that’s grown so terrifyingly unfamiliar. The ridged surfaces of Fray’s armour are harsh against L’liien’s bare back and she presses into them so tightly that they bleed her, gasping as Fray drives their fingers deeper and deeper inside her.

“That won’t wash off easily,” Fray husks.

“We’ve stained you with worse,” she thinks back, because they have, and one of the perks of being an aetherial manifestation of her internalized hatred and darkness is that aetherial dissipation is more effective than any bath or shower. Besides, she thinks Fray might get off on blood almost as hard as they get off on her. She presses back a little harder, savouring the cold touch of the metal as it cuts deeper into her.

“Aye,” says Fray. They tend to agree with her more often than not, provided the subject doesn’t relate to the social acceptability of spontaneous murder. And it’s not that L’liien’s wholly against it, but both of them know the Warrior can’t have that on their conscience, and for better or worse the Warrior is inextricable from her. As if sensing L’liien’s distraction, Fray’s fingers curl inside her, stretching her just so as their other hand settles around her throat. “Yes?” Fray asks.

“Yes,” L’liien breathes, until Fray clenches their fingers and she doesn’t. All she can do is feel as she struggles to gasp air through their tightening grip, the edges of her vision blurring as Fray chokes and fucks her. She might be on the verge of passing out – and it’s the fault of Fray’s fingers or their fist or maybe both – until suddenly Fray’s grip is lax and she’s free to keep gasping as their fingers stretch and fill her and Fray’s thumb reaches up to delicately tease at her clit. “Gods Fray,” L’liien chokes out. “Please!” She’s leaning forward now, so far gone she can’t feel the blood streaking down her back for the heat coiling in her belly and the crest of the wave she’s riding to her peak. She rocks helplessly against Fray’s fingers as they drive her to new heights, building towards a climactic deluge Leviathan couldn’t hold a candle to.

She moans in bliss for as long as Fray allows her until their grip tightens gain and Fray reasserts their control. It tightens in tandem with the coiling knot of pleasure consuming her and she finds that being short of breath only serves to bring her to climax faster. A part of her driven by instinct, primal beyond her lust and trust brings her hands wildly and desperately to her throat to claw at Fray’s constraining grip. They hum appreciatively as her trimmed nails still manage to bite deep and draw sharp lines of blood against the back of their hand.

“Good girl,” they say, thrusting their fingers deep inside her. L’liien writhes in equal parts pleasure and asphyxiation as Fray’s thumb rubs hard against her clit and their fingers tighten just a little further around her throat and as she feels the first drops of the blood she drew drip against her bare skin her coil snaps. Fray slacks their grip so she can cry herself ragged, utterly drowned by the crashing wave of her climax. Somebody’s name is on her tongue. It’s hers or Fray’s or both – the deluge leaves her so addled she’s not willing to begin to try to separate them. “Hold onto that fight,” Fray says as they ease her down from untold heights. They’re done fucking her now, content to trace their wet fingers against the bare skin of L’liien’s thighs, marking her with her own essence, claiming her as their own. “This world’s far from done with us.”

L’liien takes a deep breath, savouring the ease of it. Her throat doesn’t particularly protest the harsh treatment. It’s suffered far more at the hands – and tools – of others. She’s learned to live voiceless, but if she ever found a way to wield the echo to carry herself back through time she’d do it in a heartbeat just for the satisfaction of killing Livia all over again. L’liien smiles softly, collapsing against the mattress of the bed as Fray dissipates back into the aether. She feels the sting of coarse fabric against rent flesh and remembers too late just how much blood is inevitably shed in the time she and Fray spend together. Their relationship is soaked in it, and she hopes Gilbront isn’t too upset over it.

“I’m sure he’s used to it,” Fry says in her head. “It’s hardly the first time. “L’liien lets her eyes drift shut, sated, assuaged, and in the heat of the moment, content.

**Author's Note:**

> This was more than a little outside my usual comfort zone as a writer, but I had fun with it and I think it turned out okay. My usual betas aren't so big on smut though, so the fic might suffer from not having a few other perspectives looking it over before submitting it. Oh well. 
> 
> Comments make my day and I reply to all of them, so don't hesitate to leave your thoughts below. I love critical comments in particular, but just stopping by to say you liked it makes me smile too.
> 
> You can also follow me on my tumblr - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/orderlyanarchist - for updates and stories and previews of upcoming updates for my longer works. You can also send me requests and stuff there, or ask questions, or w/e. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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